Hunter's Moon
by The Dirty Quarter
Summary: First FanFic on this site. Feel free to read and review. No flames please, but some constructive critiscism would be nice.
1. Hunt's End

**Hunter's Moon**

**Disclaimer:** I own not Morrowind, the Elder Scrolls, or anything other than my original characters. Everything else belong to Bethesda. They are geniuses.

**AN: **I have taken certain liberties with Morrowind that are not in the game. If you happen to be: A. a Bethesda Employee, B. a rabid ES fan boy/fan girl, or C. Both, please to not kill me.

Dominicus Colsucus considered the shot. An arrow was knocked in his longbow, aimed at an Guar, one of the wild, feral ones. He was a talented marksman, but, nonetheless, he only had a good six arrows in total, not counting the one on his bow.

In addition to seven total chitin arrows, Dominicus, or Dom as many of his friends knew him, had an iron dagger, a few chunks of hound meat, and a loaf or two of bread. The 23-year-old Imperial had been out in the wilderness for the last few days, doing his trade.

His clothes were torn in a few places, and needed mending. His auburn hair was dulled slightly, and he needed to rest his feet for a while. He drew back the arrow, deciding that if he only had a few left, why not?

The arrow struck the Guar in the head. Surprisingly, it did not fall over dead as it should've. Instead, it looked to Dom and charged. It was a good 30 or so feet, but the animal was closing the gap considerably. Dominicus knocked another arrow, pulled his arm back, and let it fly, and repeated with another four shots. The first three hit their mark, but the Guar continued to charge.

As the fourth arrow stuck, however, it fell, dead, no more than three feet from Dom.

"No sense in letting that hide go to waste." he said, and proceeded to skin it. The job took awhile, and by the time he was done, the sun was beginning to set. Dominicus had a personal habit: by nightfall, he needed to find a place to camp. The small hill he was on was not a good campground. It was far too exposed for his liking.

By the time he stopped, it was well into the night. Dom judged that it was perhaps 7:00 or possibly 8:00. Up ahead, he could easily see a small fire and campground. Dominicus crept closer to observe the group resting here.

The was no conceivable doubt about it: the people up ahead were bandits. Normally, he would've passed by, but Dom's fastest route to civilization was past that camp. He regarded the highwaymen. There were four: two Dunmer, a Breton, and a Nord, all men. The elves had short swords of some kind, possibly chitin, though Dom couldn't tell from this distance. The Nord had a club, and the Breton has no visible weaponry, though most likely had a dagger.

Dominicus then considered his likelihood of surviving the encounter, should he choose to strike. He had only two chitin arrows left, and an iron dagger. He was excellent with the bow, and reasonably good with the knife. Bandits were not exactly the most skilled combatants. Yes, they could swing a sword or shoot an arrow, but they most often were untalented novices. Dom unlimbered his bow, knocked an arrow, and pulled his arm back, and released the arrow.

It entered the neck of the Breton, severing an artery and possibly damaging the spinal cord. Dominicus' second arrow entered the skull of the Nord, piercing his brain and likewise killing him.

"What in the name of the Almsivi was that?" one of the two surviving bandits said, and they rose to their feet. In answer, Dom dropped his bow, unsheathed his dagger, and ran towards the highwaymen.

He leapt at them from the bushes, taking them completely by surprise. He drove his dagger into one's arm, twisted it, and yanked it out before stabbing him a second time, knocking him to the ground. He turned to face the other bandit who, just as Dominicus had suspected, was wielding a chitin short sword.

The brigand slashed at Dominicus with his sword, missing. Dom slashed again, cutting the Dumer's shoulder. The highwayman chopped viciously with his shortsword, bringing it down in an attempt to cleave open Dominiucus' chest. He put up his left arm to block the strike, and the chitin shortsword parted both the cloth of his bracer and his flesh.

Seeing the opening, Dom slashed with his dagger, slicing the brigand's throat open. As the bandit fell, the other began to get to his feet. Dominicus delivered a swift kick to the Dumer's chest, and dealt a coup de grace, stabbing the dagger into the dark elf's spine and twisting it.

Dom surveyed the aftermath of his attack. The two Dumer had chitin shortswords, two loaves of bread, and 11 septims between the two. The Breton had, just as suspected, a dagger, possibly steel, as well as a bottle of something. The Nord had a iron club, a loaf of bread, some rat meat, and 15 septims.

Dominicus stripped them of everything, leaving the bodies in the shrubbery for the animals to devour. The clothing, weapons, money, and food weighed him down a bit, but the payoff would be worth the extra weight.

_"It would be a shame to let this campfire go unused."_ he thought. He sat down, and while roasting some meat from a Nix Hound, he examined his wound. It wasn't too deep, but the incision was still bleeding. He ripped some cloth from one of the Dunmer's pants, and wrapped the injury with it.

"Let me see. I've got no arrows remaining. I have an iron dagger, a steel one, an iron club, and two chitin shortswords. I have 5 loaves of bread, some rat meat, and some various alchemic ingredients. I also have four outfits of clothing, and about half of another." Dominicus sighed and pulled out his map, unfolding it and laying it on a stump.

"I am somewhere…north of Hla Oad. Seems to be…maybe…a few miles there." Knowing approximately where he was, Domicus ate the roasted hound meat, and slept.


	2. Of hamlets and Imperials

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own The Elder Scrolls. I wish I did.

Dom entered the sleepy fishing village of Hla Oad the day after his encounter with the group of highwaymen. He'd been through here before, and he utterly hated the place. One description he had heard of it was a "dinky little port", and he had to admit, it wasn't far off.

The injury he had sustained during the fight with the bandits was still bleeding, though not as freely as the previous night. He tightened the make-shift bandage and continued onward, into the town proper.

Actually calling this a town was generous. It was more of an insignificant hamlet in the middle of nowhere.

"I really hate this place." Dominicus mumbled. There were only two good, if you could call them that, things about Hla Oad. One: it was close to Balmora. Two: there was a ship here that would hasten his travel.

Dom stepped into Fatleg's Drop Off, the local pawnshop/ smithy/ whatever else. Allegedly, it was also an inn, but Dom hadn't seen a scrap of evidence indicating even a cushion, much less a bed.

"Hello my friend, and welcome to Fatleg's Drop Off." a Redguard said to Dominicus as he walked in.

"I've been here before, you know. You don't need to say that again."

"You have? I certainly haven't seen you here."

"Oh, yes you have. You're just trying to get out of the fact that the dagger you sold me two weeks ago broke the minute I used it."

"Nonsense! I have not seen you here before! I am Trasteve, publican here."

"You say that, but I didn't see so much as a pillow when I was here last."

"My good man, I do not remember you being here. Now, would you like something?"

"Yeah. You got any arrows?" At this question, the man's smile faded quite a bit.

"I am so sorry, my good man, but I do not have any in stock."

"Hmm…In that case, what could I get for this?" Dominicus asked, allowing Trasteve to examine one of the chitin shortswords.

"I will give you…seven septims for it."

"Twelve." This was just a little less than what the weapon was worth.

"Ten septims."

"Deal." Dom handed over the weapon, and received the ten gold coins. He summarily left the building. He sat down, leaning on the wall of Fatleg's Drop Off, and consulted his map.

_"Okay. Balmora's not too distant. I should be able to make it there by nightfall. It is only about…ten in the morning, I think. Should be able to take the trail northeast there, be at Balmora in, perhaps a few hours."_ Dominicus stood, folded his map and stowed it away, and began walking.

On the path to Balmora that ran along the Odai River, Dom began to reflect upon himself. He was odd, for an Imperial. Standing just shy of a good six feet, he was taller than most others he met. His auburn hair was also uncommon among his kinsmen, for the most part.

So too was his personality different. He had the typical silver tongue of an Imperial, but rarely used it. He was also the only Imperial he knew of in Morrowind, or even Vvardenfell for that matter, that hunted professionally. Most were either members of the Imperial Legion, enforcing order, or were in business or religious occupations and such.

Dominicus had been born in Cyrodiil in 3E 404, during the reign of Tiber Septim to Antonius and Syloria Colsucus. He had always loved the outdoors, particularly hunting, even at a young age. By the time he was twelve, he had an impressive record, with fifteen deer, three wolves, a boar, and a black bear.

So, when he heard of the opening of Morrowind to outsiders, and of the unusual creatures that existed there, he had bid farewell to his parents and headed off as soon as he was able. At first, he was surprised at the cultures, the landscapes, and the wildlife of Vvardenfell (he found it especially odd that there were no deer, or even birds that he knew of). However, he quickly adapted.

He was odd, though. As much as he benefited from the outdoors, he occasionally spent a few nights in various towns. And while he hated large cities such as Vivec, he loathed small hamlets like Hla Oad just as much.

He was so caught up in his musings that he didn't see the man until he was upon him.

"Hello good sir." the Dunmer hailed. He was well-dressed, out of place for a wilderness path. Dominicus grunted in response. "You, sir, have been stopped by Rilamus Beloren."

"And that name means what?" Dom inquired. Anticipating what was going to happen, he gripped his dagger tightly.

"Oho, so you haven't heard of me, I see. No matter. You see, sir, for a mere one hundred septims, you may pass safely."

"No." was Dominicus' reply. He didn't have a hundred septims, and besides, he wouldn't give any of his hard-earned pay to a highwayman.

"Ah. I see then." Beloren replied, drawing a saber. "Well, I'm sorry that it has come to this then." Dom drew his dagger just as the elf lunged.

He leapt back, dodging the stab. As he did so, Dom considered his options. The saber was a good deal longer than his dagger. He could throw it, but since it was not designed for such, that form of attack would likely miss. As Beloren chopped at him, Dominicus realized what would work against the bandit.

He side-stepped the blow, stepped forward, and rammed the blade of his dagger into the inside of Rilamus' right forearm, forcing him to drop the saber. Following that, Dom kneed the Dunmer in the stomach, and then elbowed him in the face, forcing the cartilage of Beloren's nose into his brain, killing him.

Dom stooped down, and removed the dagger. He again searched the body, finding 23 septims, a steel tanto, and a flask of Flin. Stowing it all, including the saber, in his pack, he then regarded the bandit's clothing. It was extravagant, with a shirt, pants, and even a pair of gloves.

Dominicus considered taking the clothes and wearing them, after the blood had been cleaned out and the right glove restitched, but decided against it. After all, where would he wear them in the wilderness? And besides, people who wore outfits such as this usually had the money to go with the clothes, and Dom didn't.

He put the outfit in his pack anyway. Someone would buy it, and when they did, it might amount to a small fortune, if Dominicus was lucky. With that, he continued along the path to Balmora.


	3. Commerce

**Disclaimer: **No, I still do not own the Elder Scrolls series. I own a copy of Morrowind, and will get Oblivion when I get a new PC. That said, I only own a copy. Not the copyright.

**AN: **In chapter 2, Uriel Septim was called Tiber Septim by mistake. So sorry about that.

Balmora. Seat of House Hlaalu's power, though none of the higher-ups live there. Dom walked into the commercial district, and stood in the middle of the plaza. It'd been a while since he'd last visited the city.

Dralasa Nithryon, Balmora's resident pawnbroker, was dusting the counter off a bit when Dominicus walked through the door of her shop. She was typically his first stop whenever he visited Balmora.

"Dom, good you see you again." she greeted.

"Same to you."

"So, are you buying or selling this time?"

Both, possibly. I've got some spare clothing and weapons." Dom explained

"Then you should see Milie or Thorek, respectively."

"I know, but they ask too many questions."

"Speaking of which, where'd you get these?"

"I was making the roads safer for my fellow travelers."

"Fair enough. I'll give you…65 septims for your three sets of clothing, your dagger, the shortsword, and the club."

"Not selling that steel one. Tad bit better than my old iron one. Just need to get it sharpened."

"Alright then. 63."

"And, I've got this extravagantly-made outfit here." He removed Beloren's outfit.

"Okay, okay. 160 for the whole lot."

"Deal." Dominicus handed over everything but his steel dagger, his bow, and his food and alchemic materials he'd gathered, as well as the Flin and the unknown liquid, and received the money. As he walked out the door of Dralasa's shop, he called, "Nice doing business with you."

After a quick trip to Thorek the armorer to get his new dagger sharpened, and 5 septims later, Dom stepped into the store of Nalcarya of White Haven, Fine Alchemist. She was usually his best customer, buying his hides and any plants he'd gathered. He also identified the liquid as cheaply-made potion of restore health, which he sold as well. Dominicus walked out of her store 15 minutes later with an additional 155 septims; in total he had 336. Not bad for two weeks work.

Dom was slightly worried, though. He hadn't been able to find any arrows. None. Dralasa didn't have any, and he hadn't seen any in Thorek's shop, and those were the two most likely places to purchase them.

"Just my luck. I've been here for most of the day, and no arrows. I've got food, money, and clothes, but no arrows." Dominicus sighed, and rented a room that night in the Eight Plates.

He took the Silt Strider the next morning to Seyda Neen. Another small town, but it was the type that Dom half-way enjoyed. At least this one had an inn, and not just a tradehouse that allegedly had beds for rent.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to Arrille's Tradehouse. I am the owner and shopkeeper, Arrille. How may I help you?" an Altmer behind the counter asked Dominicus as he walked in.

"Um, yes. Do you, by chance, have any arrows in stock?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Just got a shipment in this morning of chitin arrows." Dom almost groaned aloud, for he hated chitin arrows.

"Any chance you have some steel or iron ones?"

"Let me check." the high elf rummaged around in his shelves and chests. "Ah, yes. I have about fifty iron ones."

"Then I would like to purchase all fifty…and another 50 of the chitin arrows. Is 85 drakes acceptable?"

"I think the price resembles one hundred septims more. Anything else would insult the craftsmanship." was Arrille's response.

"95 seems more acceptable to me, sir, though I do not wish to insult you." Dom replied, still negotiating the price.

"No insult taken, my friend. I'll accept that price." They exchanged gold and goods, and Dom left Arrille's Tradehouse, walking back to Balmora, ready to resume his trade.


	4. Resurrection

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Morrowind. Nope. Own not the license. Bethesda, please don't send lawyers (or Ordinators…or Imperial guards) to beat me to death.

**AN: **Okay, we've met Dom, and explored some of the inner workings of his mind. Now, in the words of the Monty Python troupe, "time for something completely different."

Charon looked down one hallway, and then another. The young Redguard considered his current situation. He was in a long-forgotten Daedric shrine, trying to retrieve a powerful artifact for some Imperial big-wig. Charon sighed, and recollected the events of the past few days.

He had come to Vvardenfell by a somewhat typical method: a prison transport ship. He had then been escorted to Fort Moonmoth, where he spent the next day or so in a cell. That was when the Imperial came.

"Hello, Charon." he had said. "I am Carnius Magius, of the East Empire Company. According to your record, you are here due to your participation in an illegal gladiatorial arena, correct?" Charon nodded. It had really been the only way he could've survived in his home city, being paid for winning illegal pit fights.

"I am here to offer you a proposition. In the Sheogorad region to the north, there is a Daedric shrine, in which is a powerful artifact. A helmet unlike any others. Find it, and I will assure your freedom."

What choice did Charon have? It was either rot in prison, or die in a Daedric ruin. He had considered running on the way to the shrine, but he'd been "escorted" there by a squad of Imperial guards.

So now, he was here, in an ancient shrine, on a Gods-forsaken island in the middle of nowhere. Surprisingly, though, he'd met little resistance. A few Scamps, here and there, and there was a trap on a door that nearly cost him his life, but he was relatively unscathed.

Charon turned the corner and proceeded down the corridor, cautious. At the end of the hall was a large stone door. Spying a lever, Charon pulled it…only to have hidden doors spring open, and several golden orbs roll into the room.

The spheres tops popped off, and from within the spheres, vaguely humanoid mechanical figures emerged, blades deploying from claw-like right hands. Sphere Centurions.

One rolled forward, striking at Charon with its blade. Blocking with his steel shield the Redguard contemplated his foes.

_"This is far too strange. Why would Dwemer Centurions be guarding a Daedric shrine?"_ Charon thought, lashing back with a steel katana. His blow, while not destroying the mechanical guardian, damaged it. The Redguard struck out several more times, dodging or blocking each blow.

As the other Sphere Centurions closed in upon him, Charon destroyed the first, and repeated his strategy, though being injured several times in the process. Once the Centurions had been destroyed, he pulled the lever once more, and the door opened.

Within the chamber, at the far back, lay the artifact Charon sought. He walked to it, still cautious of potential traps. He climbed the dais stairs to the pedestal on which the helmet sat. Charon removed from its place, and examined the relic.

It didn't seem to be Daedric in origin. It seemed to be made of flesh, dark, even black, skin, with pieces of metal seemingly fused onto it. The headdress had a mouth design, filled with sharp, jagged teeth. It might not have been Daedric, but whatever it was, it still made the Redguard uneasy.

_"I wonder, does Carnius know what this does? I doubt it. Beside, he might even pay me if I test out what it does."_ Charon placed the helmet upon his head, anticipating the effect.

_"That's odd. I don't feel like anything's different." _Charon thought. At that moment, his face began to burn with pain. The Reguard lifted his hands to the helmet to remove it, but found that it was impossible to do so!

He fell to his knees, clutching and clawing at the helmet. Words and phrases echoed throughout the chamber, taunting Charon in a language that was old when existence was new. The Redguard felt something bubble and shift beneath his skin, as dark, chitin-like material burst forth from his flesh.

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Hours later, the dark lord Sjall-Mikela-Swiheim opened his eyes, and rose to his feet. He looked upon his body, the body that had mere hours before been owned by a Redguard foolhardy enough to enter into the place where, eons before, he had been sealed.

Sjall rummaged through the raider's memories, as if turning the pages of a book. Charon's mind was before him, spilling it's contents. In mere seconds, Sjall knew all the Reguard had.

"So…" he rumbled in Tamrielic. "I am free, after endless years of imprisonment." He grinned, jagged teeth glinting. "Well, it is time to make sure things stay that way."

Cidius Aurrus sighed. It had been hours since the Redguard prisoner had entered the ruins, and he was wanting to return to Fort Moonmoth. But, he had to stay here, along with the men under his command, until either dawn of the next day, or the Redguard returned.

"Sir!" a recruit on his first mission called to Cidius. Walking over to the man's position, covering the door, he asked,

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, there's something coming out!"

"Is it the Redguard?"

"No sir, it's bigger. Much bigger."

"Okay. Legionnaires, equip crossbows!" Every member of the Legion unsung the crossbow they carried on this particular mission. As a looming shape appeared in the doorway to the shrine, Cidius ordered, "Open fire!"

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Ten crossbow bolts struck Sjall in various places. Barely feeling their impact, much less their sting, he moved onward. As another volley was fired, he struck out at a Legionnaire with his claws, easily slicing through his chain cuirass like a Daedric dagger through Sload Soap. As they drew their broadswords and shields, Sjall slashed again at the closest soldier.

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Cidius saw the clawed hand coming towards him, and blocked with his shield. Bringing his Imperial broadsword around, he slashed at the thing. The blade connected with its chitinous skin…and shattered.

The creature swiped with one hand, knocking away Cidius' shield and broken sword. With its other hand, it impaled him through the chest with its claws. As he was stabbed, Cidius heard bones brake, and felt vital organs in his abdomen pierced.

Collapsing to the ground, the light leaving his eyes, Cidius watched as the thing slew his men, listening to their final screams and shouts of pain. It took him a very long time to die.

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Sjall looked to the massacre he had committed. For the first time in innumerable years, he felt alive again. Well, not really alive. He examined the bodies of the Imperial Legionnaires he had slain. Upon the wounds of each body, a black substance was forming, and rapidly spreading across the skin.

Minutes later, Cidius' corpse sat up, given new life. His skin was darkened, much like Sjall's, and was harder and more durable than before. But there was one major difference in the Legionnaire. It might've been his body, but the mind controlling it belonged to something entirely different.

"My Lord Sjall." it choked out, the words sounding guttural. "It is good to finally be free of the Nexus."

"It is indeed." Sjall responded, as the other bodies began to rise. "And we will never return."


End file.
